er its tragedy?

"Madame!" I said, speaking softly, to attract her attention. "Madame!"

She started violently, not knowing whence the sound came, and looked
round, at the door first. Then she moved towards the window, and with
an affrighted gesture drew the curtain rapidly aside.

Our eyes met. What if she screamed and aroused the house? What,
indeed? "Madame," I said again, speaking hurriedly, and striving to
reassure her by the softness of my voice, "we implore your help!
Unless you assist us we are lost."

"You! Who are you?" she cried, glaring at us wildly, her hand to her
head. And then she murmured to herself, "Mon Dieu! what will become
of me?"

"We have been imprisoned in the house opposite," I hastened to explain,
disjointedly I am afraid. "And we have escaped. We cannot get back if
we would. Unless you let us enter your room and give us shelter--"

"We shall be dashed to pieces on the pavement," supplied Marie, with
perfect calmness--nay, with apparent enjoyment.

"Let you in here?" she answered, starting back in new terror; "it is
impossible."

She reminded me of our cousin, being, like her pale and dark-haired.
She wore her hair in a coronet, disordered now. But though she was
still beautiful, she was older than Kit, and lacked her pliant grace.
I saw all this, and judging her nature, I spoke out of my despair.
"Madame," I said piteously, "we are only boys. Croisette! Come up!"
Squeezing myself still more tightly into my corner of the ledge, I made
room for him between us. "See, Madame," I cried, craftily, "will you
not have pity on three boys?"

St. Crois's boyish face and fair hair arrested her attention, as I had
expected. Her expression grew softer, and she murmured, "Poor boy!"

I caught at the opportunity. "We do but seek a passage through your
room," I said fervently. Good heavens, what had we not at stake! What
if she should remain obdurate? "We are in trouble--in despair," I
panted. "So, I believe, are you. We will help you if you will first
save us. We are boys, but we can fight for you."

"Whom am I to trust?" she exclaimed, with a shudder. "But heaven
forbid," she continued, her eyes on Croisette's face, "that, wanting
help, I should refuse to give it. Come in, if you will."

I poured out my thanks, and had forced my head between the bars--at
imminent risk of its remaining there--before the words were well out of
her mouth. But to enter was no easy task